Cuddly Sweaters
by QuidnamInferorum
Summary: The reader loves Dean's cardigan. Inspired by a conversation with imadeangirl-butimsamcuriouis AND a prompt from elroymarvelous: Imagine teasing Dean about the sweater, but he knows you love it. Sort-of sequel to Let's Get Down to Business. Swearing, implied nudity, and implied smut. Dangerous levels of fluff.


"I'm not wearing it."

"Look, it projects safety, Dean."

"It projects that I'm a douchebag, Sammy."

Y/N was sitting on the edge of the bed in a nice blouse, cardigan, pencil skirt, and kitten heels, waiting for the boys to finish getting ready. Her Y/H/C was pulled up into a high ponytail and a fake pair of glasses rested on her nose. She puffed her cheeks out, already sick of their argument.

She always hated posing as this sort of thing, as social worker-y people. The literal, only reason she hated it was because of Dean and his sweater. Not just because he whined the moment he found out that the sweater was in his future; not just because he would try to weasel his way out of it for hours, up until the last possible moment; no, it was because, when all was said and done, and he walked out in that stupid sweater, she couldn't handle herself.

To make things worse—or better, maybe—this was the first time the sweater had come out since Y/N had put on her big girl panties and kissed the shit out of Dean after their viewing of _Mulan_. Things had been going swimmingly since then, if her unused bedroom was any indication.

Before this, however, when he'd brought the sweater out, she'd forced those feelings down, _deep_ down under layers of denial and conviction that Dean would never see her that way. Now, however, that she knew that he _definitely_ saw her that way, these feelings were bubbling just underneath, threatening to escape at any moment.

So, she sat on the bed, gripping the bed sheets hard enough to nearly tear it apart, watching Dean huff and puff and complain about that freaking adorable sweater.

Finally, they were walking out. Dean was pulling at his sweater like it was a parasite he couldn't quite shake off when Y/N sidled up next to him and linked their arms together. "So, how ya doin', Teddy Ruxpin?"

"Shut up."

She rested her head against his shoulder, nuzzling her face against the soft material. "Holy shit, is this made of boyfriend material?"

He tried to hold in his smirk with that, but she at least managed to get an eye roll from Sam. "Maybe you shouldn't be talking, Mr. Rogers," she added, giving the younger Winchester a pointed look.

Sam answered with his well-practiced bitchface. Dean gave a real laugh at that as they crawled into Baby and off to interrogate the victim's family.

* * *

They trudged back to the hotel, already exhausted. After speaking with the family, and getting practically nothing from them, they'd gone to the library and city hall and researching for about eight hours straight.

Y/N padded to the room she and Dean had shared (Sam had started insisting on getting his own hotel room after catching the two of them in the hall) with her heels in her hands, her feet slapping against the pavement. Her hair had long since fallen from its ponytail, and she'd dropped the glasses somewhere at Baby at…some point.

Sam had discarded his sweater shortly after the interrogation, but Dean had kept his on. Of course, she and Sam had taken turns all day to make fun of Dean. The only difference was that Y/N would punctuate her pokes and prods with some feather-light touch to said sweater. She was never more than an arm's length from him and was touching him somehow more often than not.

They bid goodnight to the younger Winchester, who had only grunted in response before practically falling into his own hotel room.

Y/N was about the push their room's door open when she was flipped around and shoved back up against it. Before she could fully register what he was doing, his lips had attached to her neck and his hands to her hips. Instinctively, she latched onto his biceps, dropping her shoes to the ground. Her head fell to the side, letting him have his way with her neck. "Hello to you too."

She felt him smile against the column of her neck. "Hey there, sweetheart."

"I can't really focus on opening the door when you do that."

"You're great at multi-tasking."

She giggled, pulling lightly at his hair and making him pull away. Her eyes fell from his eyes, to his lips, then to his sweater. She took her bottom lip between her teeth as her hands ran from his arms down to the front of his sweater, fingering the buttons.

"What is it with you and this sweater?" he leaned forward to mumble against her lips.

She pulled away, smiling brightly. She whirled around the unlocked the door quickly, pulling the elder Winchester in behind her.

* * *

The pounding on the door was what woke them up. Y/N groaned as she rolled over and off of her boyfriend, picking up her unused pillow to pull it over her head.

"Fuck off, Sammy," Dean growled, curling into her side, desperate to fall back asleep.

"I'm gonna go grab breakfast-what do you want?" Sam continued on, used to their unwillingness to leave bed in the morning.

"Pancakes," Y/N mumbled. Dean relayed her order and gave his own. Sam replied saying that he'd be right back and, God, please be dressed this time.

Dean had grumbled a "shut up" into the back of Y/N's neck, settling back down into sleep.

However, now that the promise of pancakes was in her future, Y/N threw the pillow to floor. "Dean, I think we need to get up."

"Don't wanna."

"We might scar your brother again."

"Don't care. 'm comfy."

"Well, I need to shower."

"You're awesome. Stop moving."

She grinned, turning in his arms to face him. Her hand came up to rest on his cheek, her thumb running across his cheekbone, trying to get every freckle at least once. She leaned forward and pressed a quick, close-mouthed kiss to his lips. "Dean, if you wake up now, you can take a shower with me."

"I'm up."

* * *

Y/N held the towel in place as she looked in her bag for clean clothes. She shimmied into a clean pair of panties before dropping the towel to pull on a bra. As she pulled on some shorts, she saw Dean's sweater lying discarded on the floor by the doorway. She grinned and ran over, snatching it up off the floor.

She slid her arms into the sleeves and buttoned it up quickly before turning to Dean. He had on his usual dark undershirt and a pair of boxers, both of which were slightly sticking to him because he hadn't dried himself off completely.

She smiled brightly and began walking over to him. He turned to face her once he heard her get close enough, and his eyebrows nearly met his hairline. "Wait, wait."

Y/N stopped in her tracks. "For what?"

He didn't answer, instead unashamedly letting his jade green eyes roam over every inch of her. She felt her cheeks begin to burn, so she simply stuttered out a "What?"

"You're wearing my sweater."

She looked down, confusion marring her features. "I love this sweater."

"Uh huh," he nodded, his tone distracted.

She rolled her eyes. "Look, just because _you_ don't get why this sweater is awesome-"

"Oh, sweetheart," he interrupted, crossing the last bit of space between them with a wolfish grin. "I get it _now,_ " he practically growled before crashing his lips to hers.


End file.
